Mima's Johnlock
by xXxMusicSavedMyLifeXxX
Summary: A Student!Sherlock/Teacher!John commission for the wonderfully supported Mimamia


"I wont have you make a fool of me again, young man," John stated harshly. Sherlock looked up at John in defiance, crossed his arms. "How about we learn some respect and manners."

John pushed back from his computer desk to the other side of his classroom. He locked the door, rolling back his desk. "Give me your belt, right this moment, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock grumbled and opened it up, slipping it through the loops. He threw it at John, which only enraged him further. John caught it.

"Stand up. Right here in front of my desk, pretty boy. You think you're bad? You think you can disobey me without there being any consequences? Is that what you think?" He voice grew quieter, steady, and Sherlock shrunk in his desk.

John snapped his fingers twice, pointing now in front of him. He pushed his chair back for the teen to stand in front of him. Sherlock slowly stood, holding on to his trousers as he moved to where John pointed. He licked his lips and looked down.

"I asked you a question, I expect a response."

"Yes, sir…" Sherlock trailed off.

" 'Yes sir' what?"

"Yes sir I thought I could disobey without there being any consequences because I dont get in trouble for it in other classes."

John tsked, pushing back the chair even more. "That bratty attitude ends here. Drop your trousers and pants and bend over the desk. You'll remember this the next time you want to misbehave." He folded Sherlock's belt.

Sherlock slowly unbuttoned his trousers, letting them fall to his ankles. He was too old for spankings! He outgrew those five years ago! It was nearly silent, save for the soft scratching sound made by John. He looked up and the man was looking over him, unconsciously scratching his beard. Sherlock wondered if it was as coarse as it looked or if it was soft. He hesitated with his underwear.

"P-pants too?" Sherlock stuttered.

"Didn't I say trousers and pants?" Sherlock nodded. "Then I meant trousers and pants. Drop them."

Sherlock shimmied his pants down, turned around and bent over the mahogany desk, head resting beside the keyboard. John gasped behind him, both hands groping and squeezing. He let his guard down momentarily to appreciate the nice piece of arse the boy owned. And then it was back to business.

"Tell me why you're being spanked, Sherlock" John said, grip tightening on the belt as he stood, putting a firm, calloused hand on his back to hold him steady.

Sherlock took a shuddering breath, repositioning his feet to accommodate the position he was in. "Because I was a being a tart, sir. I made rude comments in different languages I didn't know you understood. I argued with you when you said you'd send me to the Dean, among many things."

"I gave you more than enough chances to behave, Mr. Holmes. I gave you five chances. You get double the lashes."

Sherlock readied himself. He heard the _woosh_ of the belt through the air. John had excellent aim. The first two hits purposely lapped over on the tops of his thighs,and then came in quick, hard bursts. It took a few seconds for the deep sting to set in. He cried out, biting his hand in order to quiet himself, he didn't want to find himself in more trouble. The next two were on his left arse cheek, the next two on his right. The seventh and eighth strike criss crossed each other. Nine and ten were the two on hardest.

John dropped the belt and sat back down. Sherlock whimpered, about to stand up, but John pushed him back down. "Let that sting set in, pretty boy. From now on, I expect you to behave. In my classroom and everyone else's."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

John moved his chair closer to Sherlock. The belt left angry pink welts. John ran his fingers over them. "God, this is such a lovely arse. Never seen anything more beautiful." He reached down, towards a backpack by his side. He opened it and began to dig through it. "Tell me, Sherlock. With a perfect arse like this, are you a virgin?"

Sherlock turned a bright shade of red. He hid his face in his hands. He didn't answer. His silence, however, did answer the older male's question. Packets of lube were being pulled out of the backpack. John bit back a laugh. Sherlock's earlier arrogance was replaced with this shy innocence.

Innocence that he was about to shatter with no shame at all. And Sherlock didn't give a flying fuck about it. He'd always found his health teacher particularly attractive. He was short, and well muscled from being in the army, as well as a rich tan that would catch anyone's attention. He needed to clean up his facial hair, but the scuff added to his physical charm. He walked with a sense of purpose, an air confidence. His voice was a rich tenor, borderlining baritone, and he spoke with precision and sharp lines, always calm and collective.

"I'm going to fuck you, Sherlock," John said, voice low and rough, and it was something he associated with a predator with its eyes locked on its prey.

"Oh, God yes," the boy groaned.

John opened two packets of lube, smearing the slick liquid over his hole. Sherlock looked back at his elder. He coated his middle finger pushing in as deep as John could go. He clamped down on the digit, the feeling foreign. John worked him loose, stroking his inner walls as he pumped it in and out. He had the brunette mewling in minutes. The second made Sherlock hiss, but John didn't stop to make sure he was fine. He scissored and stretched quick and thorough and when he was loose enough to him, he crooked his digits just so to give the boy a small taste of what he was about to experience. The young boy jerked backwards as a bolt of hot pleasure surged through his veins. His mouth fell slack as a shameless moan exited his parted lips. The elder expertly teased and abused the sensitive bundle of nerves within Sherlock.

The boy was whimpering, standing on shaking legs when John was done prepping him. He opened his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, groaning as he freed his thick, throbbing length from its confines. A few more packets of lube were opened, Sherlock taking deep breaths to calm himself. As John thoroughly slicked himself up, Sherlock took in the state of his own body, weak with need. His knees were sure to give out soon. His cock jutted out, twitching with each passing second. The neglected length was leaking, glands a deep red. He hadn't realized exactly just how turned on John made him in the last twenty minutes. His arse throbbed pleasantly, adding to the pleasure coursing through his veins. He was covered in a light sheen of sweat, his button down sticking to him uncomfortably, but he paid it no mind. John's slick hand grabbed his waist and guided him towards his lap. He was strong enough to make the boy hover enough to guide the head of his cock inside Sherlock's warm, wet body, easing him down slowly.

Sherlock whined at the burn. John was lowering him down so slow. He could feel every inch of the man's thickness enter his body. He felt like he might rip in half. He had one full minute to adjust to his girth before he was being lifted and pulled back down again. And again.

"Oh my God!" Sherlock moaned breathlessly. " _Oh, my God!"_

John groaned as Sherlock tightened around him, seating him fully in his lap. He grabbed a handful of those thick brunette curls, pulled his head back until it rested on his right shoulder. "Turn your head and kiss me," he ordered in a lustful growl.

Sherlock obeyed. He kissed the man to the best of his abilities, which wasn't saying much. John easily took control, showed his inexperienced mouth the ropes until he lost patience with his clever student. Without letting his cock slip free, he stood and bent Sherlock back over his computer desk. He pinned both of his arms behind his back, using it as leverage. He pulled out to the head, jerked his hips forward to bury his length deep in the pliant body beneath him. Sherlock had to bite his lip in order to stay quiet. John lifted Sherlock's upper body off the desk, letting his arms go, the lanky limbs instantly grabbing onto the desk to hold himself up.

Calloused hands slipped underneath his shirt, slid across his torso. Sherlock reached back, wrapping his arm around the man's neck.

"Harder, faster, please!" Sherlock nearly yelled, causing a hand to hand to slip from under his shirt and up to his mouth, forcing three fingers past perfect pink lips.

But John complied with the sexiest growl the boy had ever heard. John pulled nearly all the way out, bending over just a bit, and slammed back in. Sherlock's shout was muffled, back arching as the elder man hit home.

"Such a pretty lad," John cooed low in his ear, his beard scratching at his heated, sensitve flesh. "God, it's like you were made to take my cock."

The boy was pressed back onto the desk. He felt the omcoming sparks of orgasm in his lower belly. He could tell John was getting close to his own orgasm. His thrusts were slowing down, packing more and more force as powerful hips slammed agaist Sherlock's reddened and sore arse. Sherlock clawed desperately at the desk, leaving long marks in the wood as he was dragged down as John plopped back down in the chair, burying his face in Sherlock's back to muffle his shout as he came, hips jerking up violently. Sherlock whimpered in his lap, eyes closed. He was oh so close. He was unsure if John was going to finish him off (oh god did he hope so). When John came back to his senses, he wrapped his large hand around his aching cock, stoking him with a firm grip. He leaned back in the chair.

"Shhh, it's all fine. I got you, beautiful," John murmured in his ear. "Cum for me, Sherlock. Make a right mess of yourself."

Sherlock whined, whimpered, and squirmed in his lap, him orgasm hitting him hard. John clamped his hand over the boy's mouth. Sherlock slumped back agaist John, panting harshly. John chuckled licked his hand clean. He lifted the boy off his lap, sitting him on his desk. He tucked himself away, studying Sherlock's long, pretty face.

"Dr. Watson-" Sherlock started.

"John."

"John…"

John redressed Sherlock, making him look nice and neat once again. The boy was sleepy, swaying on his feet as he stood. He looked at the clock. He had thirty minutes until he absolutely had to leave.

"Come on, _my_ sleepy boy. Come sit in my lap."

Sherlock, all long limbs, folded himself up in John's lap in such a way his arse was not touching John's thigh. He closed his eyes. John carded his fingers through sweat damp curls, humming softly. He gave a firm tug on those curls, the boy in his lap gasping and looking up at him.

"Yes, John?" he asked in a whisper.

John tightened his grip on his hair. "You are _mine_ , you hear? _Mine_."

Sherlock nodded and nuzzled into his chest. "Yes, John. I'll behave from now on."

"Your mother will be here soon for a talk. Get you a quick kip in."

Sherlock had no arguments for that, easily drifting off to sleep in John's strong arm.


End file.
